Hard to Hold (True Romance) (3 page)

Kate shrugged. “Maybe they like their hotel.”

Anne laughed. She knew which no-tell motel the state used to sequester the good citizens doing their civic duty. If the luxuriousness of the accommodations was the deciding factor, the jury would have declared the defendant guilty in a literal New York minute.

Or maybe they’d surprise everyone and determine the scumbag to be innocent, though Anne couldn’t imagine how.

“What’s next up on the docket? I heard something about an indictment against a local businessman for fraud? Something to do with an investment scam that focused on the elderly?”

Kate pursed her lips, so Anne turned up the wattage of her smile until the prosecutor cleared some papers from her table and with a sweeping hand invited Anne to join her.

“It’s not one of my cases.”

“Yeah, but you never talk about your cases until after they’re over.”

“This much is true.” Kate handled mostly domestic violence and juvenile adjudications, so while she was not usually forthcoming with information that might hurt her victims—or in the case of the kids, her defendants—she usually made herself available to discuss less sticky topics, like the murder case that had been playing out for nearly two years from the first arrest to the eventual trial. “What did you hear about the fraud case?”

“Not a name,” Anne replied. She’d actually only overheard a tidbit of conversation last week while in the ladies’ room at the courthouse, but no one in the know had verified anything she could print.

“Grand jury is supposed to finish up today. If you can be in the courthouse around two, you might just get some answers.”

Anne snagged a cookie coated in thick, powdered sugar before sliding her plate across to Kate. Wedding cookies were her favorite.

“Thanks for the tip,” Anne replied, smiling.

Kate downed the dregs of her latte. “I do not understand how anyone as cheerful as you can cover the crime beat.”

This was the second time in two days that someone had questioned her career choice in terms of her personality. She wasn’t sure what that meant—or if she liked it.

“Maybe I haven’t been doing it long enough to get burned out and crusty,” she replied.

“Do you want to be crusty?” Kate crinkled her nose with obvious distaste at the idea.

“Will I get paid more?”

“I seriously doubt it,” Kate replied.

“Then I’ll leave crusty to my editor.”

“How cliché,” Kate commented with a smile.

“Yes, well, there’s a reason stereotypes exist in the newspaper business. Most of them are based on undeniable truths.”

“Same with the court system. I’m the perfect example of the once idealistic, yet now currently overworked, public servant with absolutely no life of her own who gets more pleasure out of Venetian cookies than I do on a Saturday night.”

“Welcome to my world,” Anne said.

On the surface, she and Kate shouldn’t have that much in common, particularly in the dating arena. Kate was in her forties, a single mom who worked long hours for a lot of personal satisfaction but very little pay. At least Anne had a job that allowed her to work from multiple locations and a daily life that didn’t bring her into direct contact with crime victims or perpetrators on an hourly basis.

“Dating is the least of my worries nowadays. You?”

Anne took the opportunity to shove a particularly large sesame cookie into her mouth, giving herself time to chew over an answer. She didn’t really want to talk about Michael. What was there to say? She’d only chatted with the guy for fifteen minutes and yet his haunting blue eyes and easy laugh had stayed with her long after her multiple margaritas, the chilly walk home and her restless night in bed. It wasn’t as if she was fantasizing about having sex with him—not that this would be an unpleasant fantasy— but she couldn’t understand how, if they’d clicked so quickly, he could find it so easy to walk away.

He
had
hugged her before he left. What the hell had that been about?

Not that she’d ever find out. Albany was not a big place by New York City standards, but the chances of her running into him again were slim. She needed to get him out of her mind. And unfortunately, cookies weren’t helping.

“I don’t have much time for dating,” Anne replied. “Crime statistics keep rising every time we turn around.”

She made a mild attempt at fake outrage, but Kate took a leisurely sip from a bottled water she’d pulled from her purse.

“Want another coffee?” Anne offered, more than willing to shell out some coin for a cup o’ Joe if it meant keeping Kate around long enough to ask her more about the upcoming indictment.

“Ha! You think I’m going to sit here and have a coffee with you after you cast aspersions on the law enforcement of our dear state?”

“If it’s a caramel latte, you’d probably stay until closing.”

Kate grinned. “You know me very well.”

Anne popped over to the counter and ordered. Once she sat, Kate immediately filled her in on the scant details she had about the fraud case, which unfortunately, were not enough for Anne to file a story.

“Why don’t you come by my office this afternoon? I have a one o’clock meeting with Marshall, and he’s the lead on that case. Maybe you’ll be able to squeeze a few details out of him before the rest of the press get a hold of the news.”

“Cool, thanks.”

Anne made a note on her to-do list, which wasn’t getting any shorter while she sat here. But the story she planned to file today was halfway done and other than a scheduled trip to the courthouse to check the postings and make a side trip after five to a bar frequented by the police officers who often gave her information on new arrests, she had planned an easy day in Villa Italia, using their Wi-Fi to finish up some preliminary research she was doing for an interview.

When she clipped her planner closed, she looked up to find Kate shaking her head in disbelief.

“What?” She ran her tongue surreptitiously over her teeth in case a stray sesame seed had lodged itself in an embarrassing spot.

“You,” Kate said, shaking her head. “You just don’t fit the image of the ‘crime reporter.’”

She even added the little air quotes to get her point across.

“Why do people keep saying that? Not that I care. I’ve never aspired to fit anyone’s image of anything.”

“Still, I wonder how you pull it off. Maybe you can teach me. You write about ugly murders and violent mayhem every day, and yet you somehow manage to remain upbeat.”

“Cookies help,” Anne said, choosing the almond biscotti from the last few on the plate and dipping it into the foamy, cinnamon-dusted top of her refreshed coffee.

Kate nodded. “They certainly don’t hurt.”

“Tell that to my thighs.”

“I have no credibility with my own body parts, so I don’t know how I’d have any influence over yours.”

“Tell me about it. I guess I try really hard to keep my job and my life separate. I’m only a reporter. I have that luxury. I don’t have to talk to scumbags or deal with their slimy lawyers every single day like you do. The safety of a community doesn’t rest on my shoulders.”

Though the sentiment was sincere, Anne’s comment won her an additional bit of insider information regarding the much-anticipated arrest of the scamming businessman. The tidbit would give her a chance to do a little research before she headed to the courthouse at one o’clock and would likely result in her asking better questions. To repay the favor, Anne listened intently while Kate ruminated over her teenage daughter’s request to attend a rock concert in the middle of the week.

“I just went to a show last night,” Anne confessed.

“You’re not sixteen.”

“Thank God,” Anne replied with a shiver. Her teenage years had not been traumatic, but she rather enjoyed adulthood and the freedom to go out on a Monday night without having to check with her parents first.

“Who’d you see?”

“Jeff Tweedy. He’s the front man for Wilco, one of my favorite bands.”

“I feel very old when people talk about bands I’ve never heard of.”

“I’m sure a lot of people younger than you haven’t heard of them, either. They’re not exactly mainstream. Tweedy’s show was all acoustic. Very low-key. It was at the Egg.”

“I love that place. Show was good?”

“Awesome,” Anne replied, though the lack of enthusiasm in her voice startled even her.

“Doesn’t sound that way,” Kate said, her eyebrows high.

“No, the show was really great. But afterward . . .”

She waved her hand, indicating she really didn’t want to continue her explanation, but Kate only scooted closer and leaned in. The woman was, after all, a practiced interrogator. Anne wanted to resist talking about meeting Michael because the outcome had been both unexpected and mind-bogglingly disappointing.

“So who was he?” Kate asked.

Anne frowned. “Just some guy I met. We talked for a bit and then he took off. It’s no big deal.”

“It’s a big enough deal that you’re still thinking about him.”

Anne forced as much disinterest into her voice as she could manage—which wasn’t much. “He had really fabulous eyes.”

“Then why did you let him leave?”

“I had no choice,” she insisted. “Handcuffing a guy to me isn’t exactly my speed.”

“Maybe it should be.” Kate batted her eyelashes dramatically while she sipped her coffee. “My ex-husband was a cop. I bet if I looked, I might find a spare pair of cuffs for you to borrow. You know, in case you and this guy meet up again.”

Anne laughed. She was likely never going to meet Michael again—and if she did, she doubted she’d have any interest in securing him with hardware so that he couldn’t get away.

Not unless he showed her a little more attention than he had the first time.

Three

“
S
IRUS, NO
!”

Michael slid the box of CDs he’d just lifted back onto the flatbed of his father’s truck and yanked tight on the leash he’d tucked into his pocket. His sixty-five pound Weimaraner, thrown into hyperdrive by something interesting on the other side of the vehicle, tugged until Michael’s shoulder ached. The sensation of her narrow tail wagging so hard and fast he suspected it might start rotating and lift her up like a helicopter, sliced at the thigh of his jeans. With the frigid February air already biting through the denim, the pain was more than a little annoying.

“Sirus, heel!”

He was just about to mutter a frustrated (yet utterly without conviction) curse of “Stupid dog,” when he heard a distinctly feminine voice say, “Michael?” from the other side of the curb.

One solid yank on the leash and Sirus fell into an obedient sit. She panted, still excited to meet whoever had spotted him outside his new apartment. He was curious to find out who it was, too. The voice sounded familiar. He hadn’t expected to see anyone he knew while he transferred the contents of his life to his new home. Particularly no one of the female persuasion.Yet when he caught sight of the woman, he suddenly understood his dog’s enthusiasm. Bundled up in the most ridiculous green wool scarf and hat he’d ever seen—and looking entirely breathtaking in it— was Anne Miller.

“Anne, wow, hi.”

Though he’d been in Albany for months, he hadn’t run into the beautiful brunette since their initial introduction at the Tweedy show, and he’d been too busy with the holidays, work, and moving to track Shane down and ask about her friend. He’d made such a crappy first impression, and so far, he wasn’t doing that much better with attempt number two.

Instead, he was greeting her while sweaty and dirty from moving boxes of his belongings from his father’s truck to his new digs.

The fact that he’d acknowledged the newcomer sent Sirus into a renewed apoplectic frenzy. She leapt into the air. Her leash kept her tethered, but as Weimaraners seemed to have springs bred into the bottoms of their feet, the dog looked like a big gray bouncing ball hoping to greet this new person properly.

Anne laughed, which didn’t much help his attempts to calm his overwrought pup.

“She’s a handful,” Anne said, but not without a smile.

“Normally, she’s incredibly well behaved. But she’s been stuck either inside the truck or in the bedroom upstairs since we started moving, so she’s a little overexcited. I think she just needs to stretch her legs.”

Anne nodded. “Maybe it’s time to take a break.”

Michael glanced up at the sky. Sunset was maybe forty-five minutes away and they still had an entire truckload to drag upstairs before the temperatures dropped and they lost their best light source.

“No time. My dad’s helping me get my stuff upstairs and he doesn’t want to drive back home too late.”

She paused a moment, pressing her lips together as if she wanted to say something, but wasn’t sure she should. Her hesitation, however, only lasted a split second.

“I could help.”

Mike glanced at the heavy boxes in the truck and then back at Anne, not sure what surprised him more—that the woman who’d occupied more than a little time in his thoughts over the last two months had suddenly appeared out of nowhere or that she was offering to help him lug heavy boxes into his new place.

“I don’t want you to hurt yourself,” he said.